Tag Archives: Alejandro G. Inarritu

The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Film – Part 2 of 2

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the-revenant-picA screenplay bridges the gap between novel and movie and converts the story into images and dramatized action. In the narrative-heavy novel, The Revenant by Michael Punke, readers know Hugh Glass’s thoughts and motivations as if inside his head, third person point of view close. Although this works well in the book “The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Novel,” on the big screen, viewers would see Hugh Glass and be clueless. What is he thinking?

Screenwriter, Michael L. Smith converts the novel into scenes that comprise a screenplay. The motives and conflicts are visible with dialogue, action or flashbacks. The director, Alejandro G. Inarritu, morphs the screenplay into award-winning creative expression. Smith minimizes the object story of the stolen Amstadt and maximizes the relationships, injustice, and personal loss. The screenplay shows theme, motivation and key conflicts in ten pages translating to ten minutes of screen time. In a quick comparison of the first ten pages, see how the movie builds on the screenplay scenes.

It’s a Good Movie When . . .

  1. The opening scene draws viewers into the character. Smith begins the screenplay with Glass whispering “not yet” to his sweat-soaked shivering son. The film takes this touching scene and places it in the aftermath of an attack where Glass finds his injured son and reveals his own motivation in the words, “Don’t give up. As long as you can grab a breath, you fight.” Contrast this to the novel which uses in medias res (beginning in the middle) to show Glass experiencing Fitzgerald and Bridger in the act of abandoning him and stealing his gun and knife. Each opening scene shows injustice – a sick child, a burned village, and an injured man left behind. Each version begs to know what happens next to this character.
  2. The antagonist is a worthy adversary. The screenplay, scene two, begins in the middle of a campsite of hungry and homesick trappers. Dialogue centers around Fitzgerald challenging and undercutting the leadership of Captain Henry who wears a buckskin jacket with long fringe. I visualize Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett; the Captain must be a good guy. We know Fitzgerald will be trouble. In the film, scene two luxuriates with precious minutes of water running in trees and nature sounds with camera angles the Sierra club would envy. The camera catches the quiet step of Glass and two others creeping toward an elk. Scene three opens to Fitzgerald ordering the trappers to bundle more furs together. He appears to have some authority. Then when the Arikara chief attacks, Fitzgerald proves to be a fighter. So far, the chief has my vote for the antagonist. In scene four on the boat and scene five at the next camp, Fitzgerald challenges the Captain and insults Glass. Now it is known. He will be a problem when left to care for Glass. In the novel, Glass pursues Fitzgerald regardless of dangerous weather or hostile tribes of Arikara warriors. These two immediate threats are far more interesting than the eventual meeting of Glass and Fitzgerald at the end of the story. In the film, the meeting of Glass and Fitzgerald is a Hollywood big ending.
  3. Art is not forgotten. Inarritu deserves his Academy Award for his choice of setting alone. The scenery behind the blood and mutilation is ruggedly beautiful. My in-house cinematography expert reports the crew filmed only with natural light in many Canadian locations and in Argentina. Cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki, also wins an Academy Award for his efforts on this big screen epic. The film sports many talented actors, but only one can win, best actor at the Academy Awards. For the record, Hugh Glass did not sleep inside a horse; it is a Hollywood stunt. If you haven’t seen the film, do it for this scene — Leonardo Dicaprio, horse, cliff and snow.

Contrast Inarritu’s production with Jason Blum and his low-budget film production company (films with price tags in the thousands and receipts in the millions). NPR’s Ari Shapiro recently interviewed Blum. A 2013 Forbes article by Mark Hughes puts Blum’s movies in perspective. Blum is responsible for Paranormal Activity 1, 2, 3, 4 and however many he produces after the sixty plus films already on his resume (including Whiplash). He says production costs are contained by restricting the number of locations, eliminating big stunts, and using unknown actors.

The filming of the Revenant did none of these. The Revenant is big budget, multi-continent, 156 minutes, and a makeup artist’s dream for blood, wounds and semi-frozen big star talent.

The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Novel – Part 1 of 2

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screenshot-2016-10-05-06-39-34Michael Punke found enough good ideas in the journals about Hugh Glass to write a novel. At the end of the book, the author acknowledged his historical uncertainties. Alejandro G. Inarritu also found good ideas in The Revenant about the life of Hugh Glass. Inarritu strayed far enough from the Punke story to barely (or shall I say bear-ly) resemble the novel. For weeks, I wondered why Inarritu changed the story. Why mess with a good thing?

The answer to that question came unexpectedly in a screenwriting class. In this two part series, Part One explores the highlights of the novel.  Then, Part Two will show why the screenplay requires a different story and where the screenplay excels. In terms of the classic elements of story, The Revenant is rich in conflict, characters and resolution, which is the structure of the story, the plot.

It’s a Good Book When . . .

1) The action scenes are hazardous to my health.  Mesmerized by each blow of the grizzly bear’s paw, I listen to the audio book, slowing in my driving speed. Other cars are whipping past at 90mph. My car rocks in their wake until the bear’s final swipe. Punke’s novel drops stunning action into almost every scene. Action is conflict. And in this novel, the conflict is evenly spread between nature, man and self. In one scene, a snake strikes with deadly poison. Visualizing the scene, I can hardly grip the steering wheel. Also, I’m thankful I tackled this story in the heat of summer, because I feel cold in 90 degree weather. Other hazards include the frontier skirmishes with different tribes–a few fur trappers against what seems like an Arikara army. I want to duck for cover under the dashboard from the assault of arrows. For self-conflict, Glass battles his own desire for revenge when he finds Bridger, one of the volunteers left to care for him. Bridger’s haunted and tortured thoughts echo in my memory foreshadowing what is to come. Punke writes, “Stunned silence filled the room as the men struggled to comprehend the vision before them. Unlike the others, Bridger understood instantly. In his mind he had seen this vision before. His guilt swelled up, churning like a paddle wheel in his stomach. He wanted desperately to flee. How do you escape something that comes from inside? The revenant, he knew, searched for him” (p. 201).

2) The characters’ problems are larger than life. As I open the refrigerator to pull out a ready-made dinner in my heated house with clean running water, I lose appreciation for the survival challenges of two hundred years ago. The Revenant is written about fur trappers in 1823. Survival requires creativity, skill and courage. Glass must somehow find food without a knife, gun or a fast food restaurant on every corner. The descriptions of ways to trap small animals, catch fish and defeat other predators draw in the mystified urban reader. Along Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, Glass must find shelter and eventually transportation. I marvel at the “live or die” mentality that forces Glass to confront wolves feeding at a buffalo carcass. Without food, Glass will be too weak to heal, to live, and most importantly to seek revenge.

3) When revenge is not so sweet. The Revenant is an object story. This revenge-fueled obsession is because of a stolen gun. Punke devotes pages to describing the Anstadt, “a so-called Kentucky flintlock, made, like most of the great arms of the day by German craftsmen in Pennsylvania” (p. 18). Two hundred years ago, a gun was life, and Glass trusted his life to his reliable and beautiful gun. That’s why the novel’s bear attack has Glass drop to one knee and aim to shoot the bear’s heart at exactly the right distance to kill. Punke builds rich backstories for Fitzgerald and his motive to take the gun and continue in his corrupt ways. The stolen knife, however, fills Bridger with guilt. As for resolution, stories end with the character either accomplishing the goal or not. Glass finds both Bridger and Fitzgerald (not much of a spoiler). Each reader will have to decide whether Glass is satisfied with the non-Hollywood ending.

In summary, the novel adds a rich historical perspective of life on the frontier. Scenes with French voyageurs, Yellow Horse and an unlucky Captain Henry heighten this storytelling. A quick internet search on Hugh Glass brings poems, songs, historical accounts and movies. The lore and fictional accounts elevate Hugh Glass to legend. Each fictional remake of the fur trapper and mountain man adds to his story. In Part two of “The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Film,” the legend shifts in a new direction.

 

One Part Genesis, One Part Darwin and One Part Machiavelli

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Although I might plan to relax or sleep, writing ideas germinate at the oddest times. I jot a note on Monday to write about one topic. Tuesday counters with a new subject or two. Wednesday offers three more choices. After the month passes, I have pages of new ideas for short stories, posts, and even novel worthy topics. The difficulty comes in choosing and debating the strength of each idea.

A genesis process begins before each project. An idea fragment initiates a chain reaction. In true Genesis fashion, here’s what happens to an idea for something as simple as a blog post.

The Paris Review tweets a 1980s interview with Raymond Carver which begat
rereading “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” which begat
watching Birdman and the use of Carver in the movie which begat
finding other films directed by Alejandro G. Inarritu which begat
studying Inarritu’s co-writers and the two years to write the script which begat
researching cinematography for a one-shot narrative which begat
discussing the similarities between Birdman and a play which begat
outlining theme connections between Carver’s story and the film which begat
finding examples of magical realism . . .

Now Darwin, the scientist whose name symbolizes survival of the fittest, comes into play. The possibilities for the Carver idea within what I call my “genesis stage” are numerous. I keep this idea, and who knows, it might be a post on this blog in the future. The subject interests me much more than one of my other ideas about the financial funding of literary magazines. Although valuation practices and financial topics are potential dinner conversation at my table, the rest of the world might be in REM sleep after appetizers. Unless a topic can evolve, the idea turns cold, extinct and not fit to survive in my black and white world of words.

As the deadline approaches, I enter the “Machiavellian stage” of decision making. In the example of this blog post, three ideas remain – the Carver Birdman Connection (CBC), Writing of Mom (MOM), and Genesis, Darwin and Machiavelli (GDM). Now, my brain wrestles with the competing ideas.

CBC: There’s research into my idea. But how will it hold together?
MOM: Remember mother’s birthday is on the post date.
GDM: There’s not much time. The MOM topic is a bit too sentimental.
MOM: What about “writing secrets” kept from mom?
CBC: That could be rich.
GDM: MOM is too fluffy for June. That’s an August topic.
CBC: I suppose it is between GDM and me. I have a wealth of material.
GDM: Carver-Birdman is too heavy for a June post.
CBC: My topic is fascinating. It could be more than a blog post.
GDM: You’re right, it’s too big for a blog post. Discussion over. Now write.

With the argument settled, the post topic practically writes itself. Tomorrow begins a new round of genesis, Darwinism and Machiavellian debate over which story to finish or whether it’s time to return to the manuscripts.